


Across My Memory

by Newtdew25



Series: Across My Memory [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Brief mentions of alcohol use, Cameo mentions of other Check Please characters, Canon-typical swearing, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Lampshade Hanging, Leaning on the fourth wall about these side characters, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: A few years after graduating from Samwell, Bitty has a decently successful line of cookbooks, an ever growing online following, and a thriving marriage to one Jack Zimmermann. However, an unexpected email from past friends leads him to reconnecting with two people who have always been by his side, but whom he failed to notice.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Ollie O'Meara/Pacer Wicks
Series: Across My Memory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725091
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. In 21st Century America, We Send Emails

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this as a celebration of the completion of Check, Please as well as in reaction to Ngozi's post-canon posts about Ollie and Wicky. Since breathing life into side characters is my passion, I jumped on the chance to establish a slice-of-life look at what Bitty's batchmates got up to after they graduated as well as how they got together in the first place. 
> 
> The characters themselves belong to Ngozi Ukazu, not myself (though I did apply my headcanons to them).
> 
> As a disclaimer, please do not send anything to the email addresses listed in the fic. As this is unbeta'd, all mistakes are purely my own.

_“Few people notice everything. Fewer still notice what is missing.”_ \- Trenton Lee Stewart

To: [ eric.r.bittle@bittybaking.co ](mailto:eric.r.bittle@bittybaking.co)

Subject: Personal Baking Request

Dear Bitty,

I hope this email finds you well. I know this address is probably meant for business inquiries, but it was the only one I could find on your website (nice job on the layout, by the way. Very sleek). You’ve certainly come a long way from your days at the Haus, yet you’ve also retained that Southern charm and hospitality that made you so endearing to the team and to us.

By us, I mean me and my husband. We’re journeying across the States as part of our five year anniversary, and one of our stops is in Providence next week. If it’s not too much to ask, would you be able to bake us one of your famous pies? Ollie was always a fan of your blueberry tarts, but we’re leaving the recipe up to you. We’ll be happy to talk about compensation and pickup arrangements either by email or by phone; I’ve listed my personal and work numbers below.

Kind regards,

Pacer “Wicky” Wicks

O’Meara and Wicks, Prodigy Financial Solutions

⁂

As he read over the email from the previous night for the tenth time, Bitty was drawn to the last three lines again and again. Ollie and Wicky. His fellow Wellies, members of the Samwell class of 2017. A small festering of guilt bloomed within his stomach on account of how he’d lost touch with them across the years. On his contact list, Bitty had names from Ransom and Holster to Chowder and Nursey to Whiskey and Ford and even Johnson.

_Johnson who barely ever answers, but is eerily good at predicting the upcoming week’s weather. Maybe he’s working on a news channel on the side while writing his philosophy books._

Yet his own batchmates didn’t make the cut. He’d come across pieces of their lives after graduating, of course. The elopement and private ceremony in a private park in Arlington. Their founding of a financial consulting firm. The honeymoon in New Zealand on account of them bonding over a shared love of the Lord of the Rings (the books, movies _and_ Tolkien’s supplementary works). But for all Bitty knew about Ollie and Wicky, he also knew absolutely nothing about them.

“Oh, gosh,” he murmured to himself as he favourited the email so that it wouldn’t accidentally wind up in his trash folder. “Has it really been five years?” Since his and Jack’s anniversary wasn’t until next summer, that meant that Ollie and Wicky had been married since sometime during their fourth year. “How did I miss it? How did we all miss it?”

It was a curious kind of irony, really. Bitty had spent so much time first agonizing over his sexuality, then his relationship with Jack, yet there was another gay relationship that blossomed right before his eyes. Or rather, he supposed, right beside him.

_“I chose Samwell because it’s one of the most LGBTQ+ friendly campuses in the country; of course there’d be other gays around me. But this… this was like looking for a carton of milk in a fridge, only for it to be in the middle of the first shelf you looked at.”_

Dinner that night was simpler than most nights; mushroom-stuffed pork tenderloins with an apple, pecan and arugula salad. It pained Bitty to not make any dessert, but the Falconers had an upcoming physical assessment, so Jack had to lay off the sugar and butter. At least the pecans he _was_ planning on using for a pie could be repurposed.

“Bits? Bitty? Eric?” Jack called out, waving in his face. “You’ve barely touched your plate. What’s bothering you?” Looking down at his meal, Bitty realized that he’d been poking his own salad apart, separating it back into three half-decent piles of ingredients.

He set his fork down and sighed, taking Jack’s hand in his. “Honey, it’s just this email I got and, well… How well do you remember Ollie and Wicky?”

Jack looked up into the air for a moment, murmuring the names silently as if that would help unearth the memories hidden somewhere in his brain. “8 and 9, right? Same year as you. What about them?” While Bitty was slightly amused by the fact that Jack couldn’t remember their names, but knew their numbers, that was precisely the problem.

“Wicky… He emailed me. He’s asking for a pie-”

“If you have time, I don’t see the-”

“He and Ollie have been married for five years, Jack.”

To his credit, Jack stopped mid-sentence to consider the weight of Bitty’s words. Even though they were all fairly young and had many years before them, a five year anniversary wasn’t something to treat lightly. He put his own fork down as he thought over his next words carefully. “So what do you want to do, Bits?” Jack’s question wasn’t malicious or cold, but genuinely curious. He knew how Bitty liked to celebrate events; just last July, there were enough baked goods for both Canada Day and Independence Day that they had to give away treats to the Falconers, their families, _and_ their neighbours (Jack and Bitty’s, not the Falconers nor their families).

“How would you feel about having them up here for lunch? Or even dinner?”

⁂

To: [ pacer.wicks@prodigyfinancial.co ](mailto:pacer.wicks@prodigyfinancial.co)

Subject: Re: Personal Baking Request

Dear Wicky,

Oh my gosh! It’s so nice to hear from you again! Congratulations to you and Ollie for five years of marriage. And honestly, I can’t take credit for the website; that was a favour I called in from Dex. God bless him and his expertise in, well, almost everything. Did you hear that he completely renovated the Haus in his last year at Samwell? I wonder if that couch is still there…

Anyways, onto the real purpose of this email. I’d be honoured to make a pie for you two, but I had something more in mind. How would you feel about spending an evening with Jack and myself? Apart from an upcoming physical, the Falconers have no games next weekend, so our schedules are pretty much free.

I know this is long overdue, but I’d like to catch up with you. Both of you. Heaven knows we didn’t talk nearly enough during our years at Samwell despite spending so much time together in the Haus and on the ice. Just like you did, I’ve listed my personal email and number at the bottom. After all, friends shouldn’t have to go through the business line, right?

Sincerely,

Eric “Bitty” Bittle

Bittle Baking, Inc.


	2. Burritos: The Sixth Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another email, some texts, and a dinner at the O'Meara-Wicks home.

To: undisclosed-recipients

Subject: Vacation Reminder and Service Alteration

To our esteemed clients,

This email is to remind you that from Sunday, August 9 to Sunday, August 23, both of us (Oliver and Pacer) will be away from the office for a personal vacation. While we will be checking our emails periodically, we will not be able to take on any new appointments or arrange any meetings during this time. We appreciate your understanding and will be more than happy to help you with your financial needs once we return.

Kind regards,

Oliver O’Meara and Pacer Wicks

O’Meara and Wicks, Prodigy Financial Solutions

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

How does that look?

**Tall Hobbit**

“Personal vacation”

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

They don’t need to know that it’s our anniversary

Half our clients still think we’re bachelors

“Just waiting for the right woman.”

**Tall Hobbit**

Half our clients are double our ages combined

But we aren’t exactly subtle

Not to mention how one of our office photos is us at Boston Pride

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

If you want me to change it you can just say so

**Tall Hobbit**

You can keep it

I don’t need words to know you love me

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

Now I’m worried

You only say things like that when you want something

Is there another special on takeout at Los Tres Amigo’s?

**Tall Hobbit**

Yes, and I also want two litres of Pepsi

Pretty please?

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

…

Fine

As long as I can pick what we’re watching tonight

**Tall Hobbit**

Thank you sweetie

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

I love you too sugar bear

**Tall Hobbit**

Okay we took this too far

**Ollie-Ollie Oxenfree**

Agreed

⁂

Pacer smiled to himself as he put his phone away. While their anniversary wasn’t for another two days, he’d gotten Ollie a bouquet on his way home from a last-minute grocery run. Okay, they weren’t so much groceries as they were boxes of granola bars and Bear Paws, but he got them from the Market Basket, so he felt that they technically counted. After all, what was a roadie without snacks?

To his surprise, Ollie was already waiting by the door. The smell of burritos from their favourite takeout place brought just as much of a smile to his face as his husband’s forehead kiss. “You’re sweet,” Ollie murmured as he ushered Pacer inside. “But we’re going to have dry, dying mums by the time we get back.”

“Then enjoy them while they’re still alive.” Pacer set down their roadie snacks before getting to work on putting the chrysanthemums in water. Sure, the burritos and churros didn’t look like the most romantic meal, but as long as Ollie was with him at the table, he couldn’t care less.

Ollie was a man of simple tastes, for lack of a better word. His burrito had the standards; ground beef, lettuce, tomato, onions, cheese, and sour cream. Nothing ruined a burrito more than stuffing it so full that every bite causes half of its contents to spill out. 

Pacer, on the contrary, would cover the tortilla in enough toppings for three separate burritos. It was a miracle that he kept his shirt clean of salsa and hot sauce after he took a bite. It was an even bigger miracle that Ollie could remember all the ingredients he wanted. “Oh my fuck,” he groaned (thankfully after he finished swallowing). “I didn’t know they had red  _ and _ white onions again!”

“You’re shitting me; you can’t tell the difference between different kinds of onions.”

“I find your lack of faith in my palate disturbing.”

“...shut up and eat your monstrosity.”

With sour cream and guacamole on his lips, Pacer leaned over and gave his husband a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Ollie fake-gagged as he wiped off the mess with one of the napkins. “I’m glad that, even nine years later, your eating habits haven’t changed at all. How the hell did you pass Murray’s physicals?”

“Got lucky with my genetics and metabolism,” Pacer shrugged before he wolfed down the rest of his burrito. As was their tradition, he broke one of the churros in half and offered it to Ollie. Even though he was only halfway through his meal, the latter took it gratefully and popped it into his mouth. The cinnamon really didn’t go well with the onions and such, but traditions weren’t meant to be broken.

_ “Unless we’re early 20th century Russian Jews being persecuted by the Tsar, I guess.” _

Since Ollie went through all the trouble of ordering the takeout and getting dinner ready, Pacer was more than happy to do the dishes. If he was being honest with himself, he’d never have imagined this kind of domesticity nine years ago when he first stepped onto the campus of Samwell University. His plan was to play some hockey, get his degree, and maybe mess around with a guy or two along the way.

Instead, he found a guy he didn’t want to just mess around with; he wanted a life with Oliver O’Meara.


	3. Another Side, Another Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we didn't see happen at Bitty, Ollie, and Wicky's first kegster.

As one of Samwell’s left wings, Pacer had a reputation for accuracy that preceded him. However, even as game after game of beer pong unfolded on one of the tables set up in the Haus, he chose to simply watch from the sides. He wasn’t a wallflower by any means; Pacer just preferred to drink his alcohol at his own pace.

After a woozy Holster was ushered away from the table by an equally tipsy Ransom, the apparent victor walked up to him. “Still not joining the tourney, Wicky?” While Ollie had nearly swept the board with Holster, Ransom  _ and  _ Johnson (though the goalie’s aim was scarily accurate), he’d been nursing his red solo cup for some time. Pacer assumed that he’d just been topping it up with the tub juice Shitty had concocted outside.

_ “I swear, at least half of it is something that isn’t meant to be drunk. So I’m not taking any chances.” _

“A bit late, I think,” He offered Ollie a fistbump once they were close enough to talk. “Seeing as you’ve decimated the rest of the competition.”

“Nice five dollar word there, bud.”

“In this economy? Try a dollar fifty.”

To his surprise, Ollie actually laughed at the lame economics joke. This was actually the most he’d been able to talk to the other boy. Training under  _ the  _ Jack Zimmermann left little room for idle chat and they were put on different lines for games. Still, that didn’t stop Pacer from sneaking a few lingering glances at Ollie when they were in the locker room or on the ice.

“Wait, wait, wait, were you the one that said that in Garber’s Intro to Macroeconomics?”

“ECON 1002?”

“Holy shit, dude!” Ollie grabbed Pacer by the shoulder with his free hand. “Just how brutal was that quiz? I barely submitted it before the lecture ended!”

Around them, the kegster was only growing more wild as people began to climb onto the vacated beer pong table. So Pacer offered his hand to Ollie and the two of them went upstairs, ducking underneath the “Samwell Men’s Hockey Only” caution tape that was strewn across the top of the staircase. Though the bedrooms were locked (which was definitely for the best), various attendees were slumped over in the hallways; such were probably victims of the aforementioned tub juice. 

“This is no place to talk economics,” Ollie chuckled as he stopped for a moment. He, however, was taken aback by Pacer pulling open a surprisingly imposing wooden door at the right end of the hallway. “Wait, isn’t that-”

“The attic stairs, also known as the path to Ransom and Holster’s room.” Shitty had mentioned some legend about the attic being haunted by ghosts, but Pacer didn’t buy into such things. Earlier on in the night, whilst completing his Frog duty of cleaning up the Haus, he’d heard the two defensemen talking about whether they’d locked it or not. His gamble, thankfully, ended up paying off.

While this was technically breaking and entering (albeit without the breaking), Pacer didn’t take any pleasure in messing up the room of their teammates. So, still hand-in-hand with Ollie, he brought them over to a spot by the moonlit window. The noise of the kegster still broke through the Haus’ creaky floors, but it was significantly more muffled. Given the general route of parties, Pacer wasn’t going to complain.

“So, economics major, huh?” Ollie murmured once they were seated on the floor. “I guess this team is a math nerd magnet.” Pacer had considered asking Holster for past notes, but the man was usually off with Ransom, Bitty, and the others of that group. He’d briefly wondered why that section of the team was seemingly always together, but Johnson’s explanation of “Bitty being the protagonist while we’re merely supporting characters to give this world a more lively feel” didn’t quite make sense.

_ “Or maybe philosophy majors are just like that.” _

Pacer nodded as he got comfy, or as comfy as one could get on the wooden floor. “Figured it’d be a stable career path. While I don’t really plan on working in a cubicle for the greater part of my life, I need some way of making money.”

“Then what do you want to do with your life?” Ollie murmured, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he turned towards him. The question was one that had often been asked, though rarely answered truthfully.

Pacer bit on his lip as he mulled over the question. Finally, the right answer found its way to his tongue. “I want to be happy.”

Ollie gave a low whistle as he borrowed the bottle from Pacer. “Well, aren’t you the profound one? Is this the part where you lecture me on how no amount of material wealth is going to make me happy, even in a consumerist society such as ours?”

“You…” Pacer reached over, but not to take back the bottle. He held Ollie’s cheek in his hand, gently brushing over his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re cute when you get worked up.” Sure, he’d had his fair share of the booze, but Pacer was in enough of his right mind to know two things; one, that Ollie was always fairly attractive, but the moonlight did something to really bring out his eyes.

And two; Ollie O’Meara was within perfect kissing distance.

If Pacer missed out on an opportunity to get a photo with Las Vegas Aces captain Kent Parson, well, he didn’t really mind. A selfie was nothing compared to the feeling of Ollie’s hand in his hair, the quiet giggles from the other boy as they leaned against the wall. “Easy, tiger,” he teased when Ollie started slipping a hand under his hoodie. “You’ve got to buy me dinner at the bare minimum.”

“So doing a favour for Bitty and getting a pie in return doesn’t count?” Though his voice was sincere, there was a certain mischief in Ollie’s eyes that Pacer found more intoxicating than the evening’s alcohol.

Pacer rolled his eyes, but let his head fall against Ollie’s shoulder anyways. “You’re really toeing the line between pragmatic and cheap there, O’Meara.” Before Ollie could chirp back, he was interrupted by another fond kiss to the spot just behind his ear. “Now how about you walk me back to my dorm room?”

Though the grounds of Samwell were bright enough that one could walk without stumbling over a stray branch or loose brick, Pacer still kept his hand in Ollie’s as they made their way to the residence buildings from the Haus. They snuck in kisses between the trees, the shadows concealing them from the few lonely souls also moving about at this ungodly hour. “You know,” Ollie panted out as he brushed back Pacer’s hair. “We’ve got to be careful. I mean, just because the  _ campus  _ is gay friendly doesn’t mean the team necessarily will be…”

Putting a finger on the other boy’s lips, Pacer’s grin simply widened. “Ollie, we’ve had plenty of practice at being lowkey; I think we can manage to keep the PDA to a minimum.” Instead of the further protest he expected, Pacer was nearly knocked off his feet by the force with which Ollie kissed him again.

“Best kept secret…” Ollie’s breath was, honestly, quite rank, but Pacer figured his own was as well. So he balled up his hands in his… boyfriend’s? Yeah, boyfriend’s hoodie, keeping him close enough that they could share more kisses and gross breaths.

“Best kept secret.”


	4. Four Gays in a Room Eating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion that no one knew they needed in Providence.

“You’d think that my gaydar would have picked up something, _anything_ in the four years we were on that team.”

“To be fair, we only ever saw you and Jack at practices, games, and that one time you were hazing the Frogs.”

The mention of the hazing incident of 2014- in which he had been roped into- caused Jack to nearly choke on the orecchiette bolognese that he and Bitty had prepared for supper. It was actually a recipe the latter had gotten from Professor Atley as a graduation gift. While Bitty rarely expected compensation for pies that he’d made for his friends and loved ones, the professor had insisted that she give him something in exchange.

_“Bitty and I making something that_ isn’t _a pastry; can you imagine that?”_

Ollie and Wicky sat across from them, happily reminiscing with Bitty about their Samwell years and all that followed afterwards. Just as they had been in pretty much every memory Jack had of them, the two were side by side; the only difference now were the rings that adorned their fingers. 

“You know, we actually caught your game against the Aces when I surprised Pacer on his birthday,” Ollie chuckled, wiping his mouth. “He was out there on a field call, some business about a loan amendment I think.”

Pacer put down his fork; there was a certain brightness in his eyes as he cut his husband off. “Okay, okay, listen- This was the first time we were going to be apart for either of our birthdays. So I call him and say that I missed him, then this man tells me that he’ll see me for dinner!” He had to pause to take a breath, the memory clearly getting to him. “Obviously, I think it’s some joke- like his way of making me feel better. Then there’s a knocking on my hotel room door and… and there he was, holding a bouquet and a pair of tickets to that night’s Falconers and Aces game.”

“The one where you got a hat trick and ultimately won 6-2 against them,” Ollie quickly interjected, though his eyes were also teary. From the way that they moved, Jack guessed that Pacer was squeezing his husband’s hand under the table. Though it’d be hypocritical of him to say so, it was funny how hockey was contributing to the heavy sentimental tone of the story.

Bitty, ever one to get emotional, was also dabbing at his eyes with his napkin. “I know how hard it is, being apart for work reasons. But it’s so sweet that you flew all the way to Vegas! My work isn’t exactly air-travel friendly,” he joked, looking sheepishly at the oven beside him.

“Old habits die hard sometimes.” Jack’s voice was gentle, but with a bit of cheek to it. “There are still nights that I’ll get up to grab a glass of water, and Bitty will be at the counter, making more balls of pie dough.” When his husband gave him a half-serious look of annoyance, Jack simply took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “His sleepy kisses are probably the sweetest.”

Across the table, Pacer fake gagged, though Ollie was more surprised. “Who would have thought; Jack can feel! Bitty broke his heart of stone!” This kind of playful insubordination was a remnant of their less mature years, but one that was still welcome; the levity was a refreshing change of pace from the men’s usual lives of workplace decorum.

As he watched Bitty proudly serve generous slices of maple bourbon pie, Jack made a mental note to preemptively apologize to George for breaking the Falconer diet. _“Surely she’d understand; it’s not everyday you meet up again with your past friends,”_ he mused as he scooped out near-perfect spheres of vanilla ice cream to complete the desserts. While they prided themselves on their homemade meals, the one thing the kitchen was missing was an ice cream machine. Bitty had sworn off on ever having one in their house after their test run ended up with heavy cream and vanilla extract being launched all over the place. Jack, nearly having had his eye taken out by the sea salt and sugar, readily agreed.

⁂

“Looks like my training paid off in the long run, didn’t it?” Jack quipped as he and Pacer watched Bitty pile boxes of pies and tarts into Ollie’s arms. While he figured that a truck like theirs would have ample storage, he wasn’t sure that Ollie and Pacer had planned on bringing a week’s worth of baked goods along with them.

Pacer simply snorted as he leaned against the siding of the house. “You might have started it,” he drawled, turning his head to face Jack. “But Bitty can get downright tyrannical if he needs to. One time, he himself threatened to get rid of all the baking supplies in the Haus if we didn’t take our practices more seriously.”

While Jack initially doubted that his husband would take such drastic measures, he knew from experience just how whipped the team had been for Bitty’s baking; hell, he’d had people from other NHL teams ask him how they could order some pies. So threatening what would be a baked good embargo was something he could envision.

“So are you having any other reunions during your cross-country trip?” he asked once Bitty and Ollie returned from the truck. 

“A few; there’s Chowder and Farmer in-”

“Farmer?”

“Caitlin, his fiance. They’re in San Jose, so they’re towards the end of the trip. Ransom and Holster are meeting us in Rochester since they’re crossing from Toronto. Let’s see… Dex and Nursey are in Camden, Maine. And I’m forgetting another one…”

“Whiskey’s family’s ranch, just outside of Phoenix,” Pacer filled in for his husband. “Shitty and Lardo are still in Spain for her artist residency, I think?” Jack nodded in affirmation; who would have thought that she would go from painting dicks for hipster hotels in downtown Samwell to being invited to create art by a museum halfway across the world.

_“Then again, this_ is _Lardo. She could talk her way into the Met Gala if she wanted to.”_

Bitty wiped away a stray tear as he looked up at Ollie and Pacer. “Well, y’all better not be strangers, alright? We’re only, what an hour away? Gosh, maybe _we_ should have visited you…” 

“Hush, it’s alright,” Jack murmured, putting an arm around his husband. “We can’t get back the time we lost. But now that we know, we can make sure that it’s not another five years until our next meeting.”

Soon, Jack found himself being hugged by all three of them, so he did his best to wrap his arms around Ollie, Pacer, and Bitty. Somewhere, he’d read that true family ties couldn’t be severed by distance nor time. To be embraced by not only his husband, but his teammates and friends as well, Jack learned all over again that it was true.

As Ollie and Pacer got into their truck and drove off, Bitty leaned into Jack’s side and let out a sigh. “You know, we should host our friends more often.”

“Only if you stop baking yourself into exhaustion.” Jack managed to quell his husband’s grumbles of protest by kissing the top of his head. “Now, you go and take a nap; I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

“Put the mason jars back where they belong in the fridge or so help me, honey.”


	5. One Road, Then Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they cross the States, Ollie and Pacer share a few private moments near the banks of the Providence River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explicit events in this chapter will be included in the sequel fic, which is next in the series for those who are interested.

It’s true what some have said about being in a motel room; time doesn’t flow quite the same inside as it does just beyond the door. Perhaps it was the eternally just out of fashion wallpaper, or the tasteful framed painting that you swear you’ve seen somewhere before, just in a different context. Still, there was a bittersweet feeling that accompanied one’s departure from this sort of room. The adventure was out there, but it still felt like you were leaving a part of you behind.

Ollie, ever the early riser, had brewed himself some of the (admittedly awful) complimentary coffee and stepped out onto the motel porch. The gentle sunlight was filtered by the trees that lined the main road on the opposite end of the parking lot. He’d already paid off their fees for the night, so all that was left to do was load up the truck and drop off the keys. When he heard Pacer’s gentle singing coming from within, Ollie downed the last of his cup and turned the key in the lock.

“Is everything packed?”

“Yup,” was Pacer’s answer, a soft pop on the P. When he leaned in to peck his husband’s cheek, Ollie couldn’t help but notice something slightly off about his breath.

“Please tell me that you brushed your teeth.”

“‘Course I did, why wouldn’t-”

“What kind of toothpaste smells like blueberries?”

Rather than appearing bashful, Pacer’s grin only widened, revealing little spots of the aforementioned blueberries speckling his teeth. It was only then that Ollie realized that there was a half-eaten tart on the table just behind the man.

“Would feeding you the tart make it up to you?” Pacer picked up the pastry and leaned in closer, teasingly holding it just under his nose. 

Ollie set aside the road map in his hands and took the other man’s free hand in his. “You say that like getting a kiss from you is some kind of punishment.” Their rings had matching garnets embedded along the side, a fitting tribute to the campus that brought them together. However, there was a small quirk about them that, although borderline impossible to recognize, always brought a smile to Ollie’s face. Pacer’s ring had exactly eight gemstones, while his own had nine instead. Even when they couldn’t be together, they carried a reminder of the other man on their fingers.

Before they embarked on the rest of their journey, Pacer insisted that they make a stop at India Point Park to get a better view of the Providence River. So Ollie went to check out at the office before they loaded their things into the back of the truck. The gentle breeze that tickled the back of his neck was as if the universe was telling him that though it was scary to make this trip, it would be well worth it.

They say that love isn’t a feeling or emotion, but rather, a conscious choice one makes. So while Ollie fell in love once, he chose to love Pacer everyday. He loved Pacer as he sang along off-key to the radio. He loved Pacer when he pointed out the different shapes of the clouds that passed by as they drove down the road. He loved Pacer as he insisted on tying his shoes for him before he got down from the truck in the park’s parking lot.

“It’s not as exciting as hiking across New Zealand,” Pacer mumbled, looking a bit sheepish as he surveyed the river before them. “But I’m glad that I’ll finally be able to see the rest of the country.”

Holding up his hand, Ollie offered his husband a fistbump, though this was quickly followed by an intertwining of their fingers. “Everything’s exciting when I’m with you, Wicky. Hell, even a Don’s run would be an adventure.”

“I still fucking hate that you call it that.”

“Aw, babe; that’s so sweet of you!”

Ollie turned his head just in time for Pacer to smash his lips against his. His hand held onto the man’s waist, the other bracing himself against the open truck bed. “Pace… We’re outdoors...” he groaned as he backed up into the sleeping bags and pillows they’d stashed away there.

With a smug grin, Pacer put a hand on his husband’s waist and slid it up under his shirt. “Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?” 

⁂

Afterwards, they sat a while longer in the truck bed, wrapped up in one of the blankets that was meant for a night camping under the stars. Pacer’s breathing was a soft murmur against Ollie’s neck, so he didn’t dare move lest he wake up his husband. “I love you,” he whispered, turning his head just enough to kiss the top of the man’s tousled hair.

The rushing of the water before them and the squawking of the birds above both seemed to go quiet for Ollie to hear those four cherished words.

“I love you too.”

_ “To the last five years, and to all the years to come, Wicky.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and critiques/suggestions are always welcome!


End file.
